


there's room for two (six feet under the stars)

by SongOfWizardry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angels as Novaks, Castiel Has a Religious Family, Castiel has Anxiety, Castiel's family are homophobic assholes, Dead John Winchester, Dean Winchester is Not Heterosexual, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Homophobic Language, I'm sorry for putting y'all through this, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, New Kid Dean Winchester, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-06-27 19:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15691911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongOfWizardry/pseuds/SongOfWizardry
Summary: between his fairly ridiculous sense of anxiety, a not-very-cool obsession with Doctor Who, and the... slight inconveniences that growing up queer in a religious bubble cause, Castiel has never really done well on the making-friends front.but then, some flannel-wearing kid called Dean is nice to him, for some reason.and he keeps being nice to him.and so, somewhere between granola bars, old-rock audio cassettes, and the worn seats of a 67 chevy impala, Cas thinks he might've stumbled across this thing called friendship (love).





	1. i will die for my own sins, thanks a lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: how to engage in social interaction, consume peanut butter granola bars, and self-destructively watch homophobic videos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings are in the end notes.

Castiel kept one eye on the wall clock as he shovelled the cereal into his mouth. It was exactly 7.28, and if somehow – _somehow_ – Anna made it out here in the next thirty seconds, they could possibly leave in time, and maybe—

The clock ticked over to 7.29, and Cas heard the jingle of Anna grabbing her keys in the corridor, and he swallowed the last of his cereal, but he knew that they weren’t making it at this point. He stood up, pulling down his sleeves and making a vain attempt to smooth out the pale blue shirt, look a little less scruffy, resigned, at this point, to his fate. Like clockwork, a door somewhere in the house clicked open, and just as it hit 7.30, Lucifer walked into the dining room.

“Good morning,” Cas said, stiffly, just to get it over with. A couple of seconds too late, Anna followed him, twisting her ponytail with one hand, keys dangling from the other. From behind Lucifer, she mouthed _Sorry!_ , but Cas ignored her.

“Morning, Castiel,” Luc said, nodding pleasantly, then turned, “Anael.” Cas focused all his attention on picking up the cereal bowl, and made his way past Lucifer into the kitchen. But there wasn’t much lingering one could do when placing a bowl in a sink, so eventually he had to turn around and head back to the dining room. Lucifer had, by this point, taken a seat at the table, and Anna was leaning against the wall, shooting glances none-too-subtly at the clock.

“So,” Luc said, casually, “Have you seen what our big brother has been up to, Castiel?” He didn’t even look up as he said it, his gaze focused on doing up the cuffs of his pristine-white shirt.

 _It was blowing up my phone all evening,_ Cas thought, but just said, “I have.”

“Doing the Lord’s work is never easy.” And now Lucifer looked up, and was it Cas’ paranoia, or was there something glittering in his eyes? Behind his back, he clenched one fist. “People will be unhappy.”

“I’m sure they will be,” Cas said, as smoothly as he could.

And then, before Lucifer could start speaking again, Anna said, “Come on, Cas, we need to leave,” and it was horribly transparent, but Luc merely nodded. And Cas let Anna grab his wrist and pull him out of the house, down the front steps, in a decent semblance of a rush.

Once they were outside, the heavy door slamming shut behind them, Cas paused in the middle of the lawn, looked up, and breathed in the autumn air. The wind, only just turning chilly, cooled his cheeks, and he thought _one down, how many more to go?_

Anna was getting into her car, turning the key, and with one last look at the house – thinking of Lucifer, of Michael’s smug face that he would have to endure in the evening – he got into the passenger seat, rolling down the window as Anna reversed out of their compound smoothly. As soon as they were on the road, he stuck his head out of the window as far as he could.

“Cas–”

“Don’t, Anna,” he said, flatly. After a moment, he felt slightly guilty, so he pulled his head back in and turned to face her. “I’m fine. Really.”

Anna pulled her eyes away from the road, gave him a once-over. “If you’re certain,” she said aftera moment, turning her attention back to the road.

“Of course.” And he went back to sticking his head out of the window.

* * *

School promised to be an uncomfortable affair. Already, he’d been stopped in the hallways twice by kids he knew from church who wanted to talk about Michael’s viral hate-speech – not that _they_ were calling it that, but that’s what Cas was calling it in his head – and he’d had to shake them off, muttering about being late for something.

Now, earphones pushed as far as they could go into his ears, he was hidden in the furthermost stacks of the library, sat on the floor between two shelves, staring at a copy of Order of the Phoenix he’d picked up. The library had been quiet, pretty much empty – most people preferred to eat during lunch, and if they were hiding away, they were doing it well – and he’d had decided to fill up the silence with Elton John: _I’m a genuine example of a social disease_.

So he was a walking talking stereotype: sue him.

He was attempting to read the beginning of the chapter, _Number Four, Grimmauld Place_ , attempting being the key word, when something he couldn’t quite place caught his attention. Slowly, he lowered the book from his knees and looked up, and realised there were shoes in front of him.

Well, feet wearing shoes, these beat-up leather boot things. Cas followed the feet, up, up, to reveal a boy standing there, dressed in plaid, dark hair, green eyes, grinning broadly. It took Cas only a moment to place him—he was the New Kid.

Regretfully, Cas pulled out one earbud, and the New Kid’s grin widened.

“Hello,” he said.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Was there anything you required?” he asked, trying to aim for ‘curt’ instead of ‘asshole’, and probably failing.

“Nah,” New Kid said, leaning against a shelf, “Just wanted to say hi.” _Really?_ “You’re in my calc class, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, deciding it was a lost cause now and pulling the second earbud, still singing tinnily, out of his ear. And then, because _You’re the new kid_ was a bit too asshole, even for him, he said, “You sit with the redhead.”

“Yep, Charlie. I’m Dean, by the way.”

“Castiel.” After a moment, for some indiscernible reason, he added, “Or Cas, if you want to be familiar.”

Dean laughed. “Cas it is, then.” Without any invitation, he dropped down on the floor, just half a foot away from Cas. “Aren’t you the one who has like, fifteen brothers and cousins or something? The massive family? The–” Dean broke off, but Cas knew what he was gonna say.

“The church one, yes.” He focused on shutting the book so he wouldn’t have to look at Dean, and for a moment, considered getting up and trying his luck at hiding elsewhere. But for some reason, Dean kept talking.

“So is Harry Potter important enough to you to stay hungry?”

“Sorry?”

“You’re skipping lunch,” Dean pointed out, “Don’t you get hungry?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Dean grinned, as though he’d been waiting for Cas to ask this, and with a dramatic flourish, pulled out a slightly squished granola bar from his jeans pocket. “Ah,” Dean said, “But unlike you, I came prepared. You’re not allergic to nuts and things, are ya?” he asked, unwrapping the bar.

“Not that I know.”

“Excellent.” Dean broke off half the bar, then, before Cas could fully process what was happening, he was passing him the latter half, still in its wrapper. “Go on, it’s the peanut butter one, it’s _great_ ,” Dean said, waving it in his face.

“I–” Cas hesitated, thinking of the hours until he got home, and how he full well knew he’d be skipping as many meals as he could manage to avoid the fuck out of his family, and he was only human and thus naturally loved peanut butter. He reached out and took the bar and said, “Thank you.” It came out quieter than he would’ve liked, but Dean heard.

“No worries.”

For a few moments, there was silence between them, as Dean ate his granola bar surprisingly carefully – okay, yes, Cas was watching, he was a creeper, whatever – producing basically no crumbs, and Cas ate his much less gracefully, covering his trousers in granola dust and licking peanut butter off his fingers.

“Here,” Dean said, when he was done, producing a tiny bottle of hospital-grade hand sanitiser from another pocket.

Cas stared. “How many pockets do you even have?”

“Several.” Dean grinned as he squeezed out a tiny amount of sanitiser onto his own palm, then held the bottle out towards Cas, but instead of giving him the bottle, squeezed the same amount onto Cas’ hand as well. Cas rubbed it in slowly, its antiseptic scent weirdly pleasant, considering how different a course this lunch hour had taken. “We should probably get going,” Dean said, pulling out his phone to check the time. “What do you have next?”

“English,” Cas said, knowing full well Dean didn’t.

Dean shrugged. “Ah, bummer, I’ve got bio. Shall we get outta here, then?”

Cas stood up, hugging the book to his chest. “Got to return this first,” he said, tapping it with a free hand.

Dean got to his feet, dusting off his jeans. “That’s fair. I’ll see you in calc, then, Cas?”

Castiel nodded. “Yeah. See you then.” He stood there for a moment as Dean waved and headed towards the exit, then turned and went back to fiction.

* * *

Halfway through English, Castiel’s phone buzzed in his pocket. After a moment’s hesitation, he glanced towards the front of the class – Charles’ attention seemed safely occupied by the soliloquy he was reading out loud – and wormed his phone out, holding it under the table.

 **_Anna:_ ** _you weren’t at lunch where were you??_

 _I had things to do_ , he typed as surreptitiously as he could, then dropped the phone onto his chair and tried to force his brain back to Hamlet.

The truth was, he’d been trying to avoid the notifications since last night; since youtube clips of Michael had gone viral, along with the commentary on them—everyone was _so proud_ of him, doing God’s work, standing up for what was right against _those people_ , until it devolved into an incessant game of insert-slur-here that he had to catch glimpses of on group chats every time he opened his messages.

The phone, under his thigh, buzzed again, distracting him from his thoughts. He shifted to check it.

 ** _Anna:_** _sure you did_.

Cas didn’t bother responding to that, and instead went back to half-listening to Charles and scrawling Hamilton lyrics in the margins. He hadn’t actually listened to anything Michael had said, not yet. He hadn’t had the energy for destructive behaviour last night. But soon.

* * *

Which is how he’d ended up here, in an abandoned stairway, ten minutes after the last bell had rung. He’d texted Anna to go ahead without him – he didn’t really want to arrive at home any earlier than he absolutely had to, anyway – and was now sat in a corner of the dark stairwell, staring at the youtube homepage on his phone.

After a moment, he typed the words _michael novak_ into the search bar. Almost all the results that popped up were from last night. The top one had the title _MICHAEL NOVAK — HOMOSEXUALITY, IMMORALITY AND PERSEVERANCE — ST THOMAS HALL 10/04_

Cas took a deep breath and clicked on the link.

Whoever this was knew what people wanted—the entire hour long sermon had been cut down to fifteen minutes, and as a result he’d already got – Cas checked the counter – six thousand and a couple hundred views. A celebrity, by their church’s standards. The video buffered for a couple of seconds, and then started playing.

Cas’ stomach twisted as Michael, standing at a podium, came into focus, and the familiar voice rang through his earbuds.

“Thank you, brothers and sisters, thank you,” he was saying. This clip was clearly starting from the middle of the speech. “It’s such a blessing – such an honour, really – to be in front of you all today, in this place of faith, with people of faith.” Michael’s voice was deep, warm, he smiled at the crowd. “I know each and every one of you here are full of the light of God, full of belief and strength.” Then the smile disappeared, and his voice turned quieter, more serious. “And it’s strength we need in these trying times, isn’t it? When the world is full of attacks on our belief, on our principles–” He paused, leaned forward, and said, words heavy with meaning, “On our way of life.”

Cas could hear quiet murmurs of assent breaking out amongst the unseen audience as Michael went on. “Yes, it’s true. I know you all know what I speak of—the so-called ‘gay agenda’.” Michael made the air quotes with his fingers, the audience laughed a little, nervously, Cas swallowed down the sudden bile in his throat and pressed the nails of his free hand into the back of his neck. “Over the past few years, these people – these so-called homosexuals – have emerged from our friends, our neighbours, our congregations—our families.” Cas dug his nails in harder, but didn’t press pause.

“It is… so easy to be led astray, so _easy_ for our youth to be tempted these days. Their propaganda is everywhere, isn’t it? In our schools, our government…” More murmurs of assent. “Social media, too! Did you know that?” Michael gestured to the audience. “The websites we use, our brothers and sisters and children use–” ( _He’s not even that fucking old_ , Cas thought.) “They all partake in this, this homosexual propaganda. Rainbow banners and filters, across Facebook, Instagram, Twitter—these are the places our youth spend so much of their time!”

Michael paused, and the video skipped ahead, to a different clip. “It is so easy,” Michael was saying now, “To be led astray. And it is on us, now! Those of us, with families, going forward to build our own families. It starts early. We need to inoculate – to vaccinate – our children, our youth, against this kind of sickness. This means—show them love, but the right _kind_ of love. Let daughters bond with their mothers, and fathers with their sons. Show them firm, nurturing, godly love—so they are not confused, as they grow older, by the suggestion of impure affections.” Once more, murmurs of assent could be heard from the crowd. They clearly were fond of this theory. Cas would’ve scoffed, if he’d had the energy—he’d gotten _only_ ‘appropriate, godly, firm’ affection, that hadn’t saved him from shit.

“Ensure that our youth,” Michael was now saying, “And this goes for those of us who teach, who work in youth groups, all of us, we need to ensure that our youth are engaging in _gender appropriate_ activities.” Again, another day, another voice, Cas would’ve rolled his eyes at the emphasis, but right now, all he could feel was his stomach, painfully twisting itself into knots, and the ache from where he’d started chewing his lip. He let go of his neck and reached out to check the slider—still another ten minutes, _ten fucking minutes_ of this left.

Cas, hands slightly shaking now, willed himself to just hit pause, just turn off the fucking phone, but. But he needed to know. To see this. Something in the back of his brain pointed out, _There is nothing more transfixing than the sound of people hating you_ , and he managed a small smile at that, and let his head fall back against the wall. Michael was now talking about how it was a _dangerous slope to let our boys indulge in femininity_ and how girls needed to be _encouraged out of tomboy habits_ as they grew.

Castiel watched him gesture, watched him smile comfortingly at the crowd full of assholes, watched him say the words _sissies_ and _men in dresses_ and _impure_ and _dangerous_ and _poisonous_ on a fucking video record, and considered how he’d have to hug Michael that evening (briefly, nothing too touchy, of course) how he would smell of cologne and how his tie would be only slightly loose at the end of the day, and how he’d congratulate Michael on his fucking viral sermon. The thought made him want to slam his head against the wall, scream, and burn the entire town down, possibly simultaneously.

Instead, he just kept watching.

Finally – Cas had checked the slider three more times – Michael looked at the camera directly, and said, “The responsibility lies on us. We _know_ what the punishment is for these acts. We know how these people, these disgusting ideas, seep into our communities, infection spreading. We must cull it. We _must_ speak up—silence in the face of immorality, after all.” Cas sucked a breath in at that, one of Mother’s favourite phrases, “Is just as bad as immorality.”

The video ended.

Cas, now properly shaking, reached out, thought to himself, _Do not fucking check the comments_ , and shut off the phone. It slipped from his hand onto the cement floor, the clatter echoing loudly in the stairwell, and he couldn’t be fucking bothered to pick it up—instead he wrapped his arms around his knees, rested his head on them, and realised that he hadn’t noticed when he’d started crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: religiously-motivated homophobic language, self-harm (quite a lot of homophobic language, because why not project every homophobic sermon I've heard onto cas, sorry pals—if you want to skip it, it starts at 'Thank you, brothers and sisters', and goes on until the end.)
> 
> the quote 'there is nothing more transfixing than the sound of people hating you' is from _two boys kissing_ by david levithan, which i highly recommend. 
> 
> this chapter’s title is from _one foot_ by fun.


	2. sing in choir 'til your tongue falls out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: how (not) to discuss your family, narrowly escape crying in a strange car, and deny your love for freddie mercury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings are in the end notes.

After fifteen more minutes that passed without Cas really knowing where they’d gone, hidden in the stairwell, trying to stop crying and remembering how to breathe ( _in for four, hold for five, out for three_ , over and over again), Cas finally realised that he would have to go home eventually. It took another ten minutes for him to reluctantly lift his head, wipe down the mess that was his face, and drink all the water that remained in his bottle, at which point Cas felt slightly more human. But it was the dwindling state of his phone battery, and his inability to function without music playing, that finally got Cas to stand up, pull on his bag, and drag his ass downstairs.

By this point, forty minutes after the bell, most of the campus was deserted, except for lingering extra-curricular groups. Cas walked slowly out of the building, down the greenish hallways and past classrooms and lockers, and once he was outside, stood on the steps for a moment to breathe in the wind – chillier now – before starting to cut across to the parking lot. He pulled the sleeves of his sweater down, past his wrists. It would be coat weather soon.

He was making his way through the mostly-empty parking lot, heading for the gate, when someone called his name.

“Cas!”

His head whipped around fast enough that he could hear something crack, his brain immediately going _whowhatwherewhyshit_ , and the voice called again, “Cas! Over here,” and he realised it was Dean, waving, leaning against the hood of a black car.

Dean, who was now wearing a green jacket over his flannel, and appeared to be calling him over.

Cas considered, for a moment, the sobbing-induced ache still very much there behind his temples, the prospect of his living room, the ten percent charge on his phone, and decided that if nothing else, at least a conversation would extend the amount of time he could spend here. Maybe Dean would have a charger. Cas walked over slowly.

“Hello,” he said, once he was standing right next to the rather impressive car.

Dean grinned. “Cas. Who woulda thunk.”

“Yes,” Cas said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. And then, realising that they were standing in a nearly empty parking lot, “Why are you still here so late?”

“Gotta pick up my little brother, he doesn’t let out til four-forty five. Enjoying the breeze till then. You?”

Cas just shrugged. “Couldn’t be bothered to leave.”

Dean considered that for a moment, and Cas wondered if he was going to have to field more questions, but Dean just said, “Fair enough. Are you heading home now then?” When Cas nodded, he asked, so casually, “Want a lift? If you don’t mind waiting a bit for Sammy, that is.”

Cas, slightly taken aback by the offer, took a moment to answer. “Yes, please,” he said, “That would be nice,” and surprised himself a little by how much he meant that.

“C’mon then,” Dean said, picking up his backpack from where it was sitting by the car, and digging a set of keys out of his evidently-bottomless pockets. “Almost time to get Sammy.”

Cas stood where he was for a moment, then, hesitantly, reached for the passenger side door. “In front okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” Dean got into the car, and Cas followed suit. The inside of the car was all worn-smooth leather, and Cas watched as Dean slung his backpack over his shoulder and into the backseat with practiced ease. Cas, after a moment of hesitation, slid his own backpack onto the floor, and fumbled for the seatbelt, his hands suddenly shaky, struggling to fasten it. When he finally managed it and looked up, Dean was watching him, grinning. “You good?”

Cas nodded, even though _good_ was galaxies away from where he was right now. “Uh huh.”

Dean, after a second of hesitation, turned away and started the car, and immediately music started playing— _Keep dancing through your disguise, who needs, well I don’t need_ —“Shit.” Dean reached out, colouring slightly, hit eject, and the crooning shut off abruptly as an audio cassette – an honest to fucking goodness _cassette_ , outdated magnetic tape and all – slid out of the dashboard. For a second, Cas couldn’t quite tear his eyes off the edge of the tape, an ugly off-white thing, with the beginning of the word _QUEEN_ , scrawled in sharpie, visible. “Sorry, man,” Dean said, and Cas looked up.

“No, no, it’s fine—I don’t mind.” Dean flashed him a quick smile, then started backing out of the parking lot, eyes on the rearview mirror. Cas let the silence hang for a while, until it started getting uncomfortable, and then asked, “So—Queen fan?”

“Uh huh.” Dean turned to check both ways as they pulled out of the school gate, turned onto the main road, and asked, “What about you?”

Cas stiffened, because some days, _I fucking adore Freddie Mercury_ was way too close to, _I am very fucking gay_ , and today was most definitely one of those days, so he just shrugged and settled for a noncommittal, “Yeah, a bit.”

Cas didn’t really know what to say after that, but it didn’t seem to matter, because Dean started talking. “So, Sammy’s at the middle school—he’s usually out before me, and just chills waiting for me to come around, you know? But today the little nerd has some sort of debate club thing that he’s into.” Dean was smiling, well, fondly, seemed the only way to put it, and even when he said _the little nerd_ , it was with surprising affection. “What about you? You’ve got brothers, haven’t you?”

Cas nodded, then realised Dean was watching the road, so said, “Yeah, three. And a sister.”

“Ah, yeah. What’re they like?”

Cas blinked, slightly taken aback. Most everyone he knew had known his family first, only knew of Castiel as an addendum to the Novaks. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually asked him what his family was _like_. “Anna’s a senior,” he said, warily, trying to judge the safest route through this topic. “Gabe – Gabriel – is at college, doing something like, uh, film studies.” _Something abnormal and not really Godly_ was how his parents would put it, but Cas didn’t think that was the best description. “My other two brothers are older, they’re, uh,” Cas hesitated, wondering how to describe Michael and Lucifer to someone who had no freaking clue what Cas’ family was like. “They’re, well–” Cas broke off, and the phrase _homophobic, hypocritical, holier-than-thou assholes_ occurred to him with a sudden burst of bitterness, and he had to take a breath, hold it, and dig his fingernails into his thigh to stop himself doing something fucking _stupid_ , like starting to cry, _again_ , in Dean’s car.

“Cas?” Dean was now glancing at him, looking vaguely concerned.

“Hmm?” With some effort, Cas let go of his thigh, and attempted a smile. “Yes, sorry. They’re very involved in the church, and with my parents’ work,” he settled for. “Also, Michael’s engaged.”

“Ah, okay then,” Dean said, and when Cas glanced over at him, he still looked vaguely concerned, as they turned right at an intersection, the white-block building of the middle school now visible. Cas resisted the urge to sigh. He’d managed to fuck up answering a basic question about his _family_. He was even failing at small talk.

Desperate to change the subject, Cas asked, “Would you, perhaps, happen to have an iPhone charger? My phone is running, ah, dangerously low.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got Sammy’s charger.” Eyes on the road, Dean gestured to the glove compartment. “Check in there.”

Cas leaned forward and unlatched the glove compartment, which fell open to reveal a small box stuffed with more audio cassettes, a large pack of antibacterial wet wipes, and a couple of car charging cables, one of which was an iPhone one. “Thank you,” he said, looking up, just as Dean pulled up to the gate of the middle school.

“No worries, plug it in,” Dean said, and Cas did, his phone (now on six percent) lighting up with the charging icon reassuringly, as they drove into the middle school parking lot, and Dean pulled over into an empty space. “He’ll be out in a minute,” he added.

Cas glanced at the dashboard clock, which read 4:49, and resisted the urge to say that this Sammy could take a fucking hour more, and Cas would only be grateful. At a loss for anything else to do, Cas looked out of the car’s window, taking in the smattering of other cars in the school parking lot, the remaining students leaving the building in twos and threes—two Black kids heading towards a minivan, laughing; a girl with a long, red braid crossing the parking lot, nose stuck in a book; a tall, lanky kid with dirty-blonde hair heading—oh, heading their way.

“Hey, there’s Sam,” Dean said, grinning. Dean turned the key and started the car again, just as Sam ran up to them, pulled open the door, and collapsed into the back seat. Dean turned around, reaching into the back seat to ruffle his brother’s hair. “Heya, Sammy.”

“De- _aaan_ ,” Sam whined, slapping Dean’s hand away. Dean relented, smirking, and Cas, watching them, thought, _Fuck, I wish Gabe was still around_. “Who’s your friend?”

It took Cas a moment to realise Sam was asking about him. “Oh, uh, I’m Cas.” He considered turning around and stretching into the back seat to shake hands with Sam, but thought that might be a bit much. Cas tried to think of something else to add, something that wasn’t _Your brother found me in a library and was nice to me, and I’m not quite sure why_ , but Dean saved him from trying to articulate that.

“We have calc together, Cas needed a lift,” Dean said, as they pulled out of the middle school. “So, Cas, where am I dropping you off?”

Cas hesitated. He was sorely tempted to do something that he might severely regret later, like asking to be dropped off at a coffee shop on the other side of town from his house, but – right on cue – his phone beeped, and a text lit up his screen.

 **_Lucifer:_ ** _When will you be home? We want to start dinner earlier._

Cas attempted to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat. It was going to be a _celebratory_ dinner. Still staring at the phone screen, Cas said, “Yeah, I, uh, think I need to head home.”

When he finally dragged his eyes away from his phone, Sam was watching him curiously. “Gimme your address, I’ll google maps it,” he said. Castiel did, and as the google maps voice told them to _Turn north-east_ and Dean started driving to Cas’ neighbourhood, Cas typed out a response: _Be home in fifteen minutes_.

* * *

When they turned onto the street Cas lived on, Dean let out a low whistle. “Dude, _wow_.”

Cas glanced out at the rows of too-large, too-ornate houses, of driveways with too-sleek cars and windows shuttered against the world, and shrugged, embarrassed. Google maps reminded them that their destination was on the right, and Dean gestured towards number fourteen. “That one yours?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean flipped on the indicator, as though he was about to pull into the Novaks’ driveway. “Wait, no, Dean, could you—could you maybe just drop me on the road?” As soon as he’d said it, Cas felt his cheeks heat up, but of all the things he wanted to do today, be subjected to questioning about the strange car that had dropped him off was not one of them.

Dean glanced at him, curious. “Sure, man, whatever you want,” he said, and maybe Cas was tired and imagining it, but there was something kind in his voice. He pulled over onto the side of the road, just a bit down from the entrance to Cas’ house, and Cas busied himself with unbuckling the seatbelt, grabbing his backpack, unplugging his phone, trying to delay the moment of having to look up, say bye, and leave. His hands, he noted, a little distantly, had started shaking again. Eventually, there wasn’t anything more Cas could do, so he looked up at Dean.

“Thank you,” he said. “Really. For the lift.” And maybe there was too much emotion in there for a fucking lift, but Cas was tired, and he hadn’t even walked into the fucking house yet.

“Hey, no worries.” Dean grinned at him. “Anytime, I don’t have much to do other than ferry this one around,” he said, gesturing to Sam.

Cas nodded. “Yeah, um, thanks. Bye, Sam.”

Sam waved at him from the backseat, Dean gave him another smile, and then Castiel was opening the car door and clambering out. He stayed standing on the sidewalk, backpack over one shoulder, watching as the car turned around on the empty road and headed off.

 _You can do this_ , he told himself, as he turned slowly, slowly, towards number fourteen. He didn’t really believe it. Just before he turned onto the driveway and came into view of the living room windows, Cas took a deep breath, dug the nails of his right hand into his left arm, then he let go. Trying to make himself look at least slightly more presentable, he pulled off his sweater while standing there on the pavement and stuffed it into his backpack, and attempted to straighten out the shirt underneath and buttoned his cuffs. Today was not a good day to get told off for stupid shit. Finally, he turned onto the driveway, thought firmly to himself, _Think heterosexual thoughts_ , and rung the doorbell to his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: brief mentions of self harm, references to homophobia.
> 
> thank you all for your comments! they mean the world. 
> 
> this chapter's title comes from _the lessons: exploding people_ by cloud cult, a vastly under-appreciated band.


	3. i'm sick of the things i do when i'm nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: how to partake in a family dinner, decide what to watch tonight, and do some low-level facebook stalking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no content warnings.

Anna was the one who opened the door, barely a minute after Cas had rung the bell.

“Hey,” he said, trying to give her his best impression of a smile.

“Hey yourself,” she said. She’d changed out of what she’d worn at school and into what she referred to as her formal-dinner-dress, a long-sleeved navy thing, with tights. Even her hair was down from its ponytail and combed. He probably looked like shit compared to her, Cas thought. “Come on, everyone else is here already,” Anna said, and Cas realised he’d been standing on the doorstep like a guest for several moments.

“Yeah, of course.”

He followed Anna into the house, and the door swung shut behind them. The darkened hallway was empty aside from the two of them, but Cas could hear voices coming from the dining room. Just as he was about to head that way, Anna stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Castiel,” she said softly, and he turned to look at her, surprised. She rarely used his full name. “Are you—well, are you okay?”

 _Fuck_ , Cas thought, _I hope it’s less obvious for the rest of them_. What he said instead was, “I’m all right, Anna, just… not very fond of what Michael’s doing,” he said, careful to keep his voice lowered as well. He tried for a reassuring smile, and it seemed to work, because she returned it.

“I’ll say, I’m not a big fan of his crap either.” But then she frowned. “Still, you sure, Cas? You seem to be taking this… harder than usual.”

Cas hesitated. Some part of him wanted to say _What exactly are you asking me?_ Another part, a stupid part, wanted to say something like _Yeah, because it directly affects me_ , and have it out right here, in this hallway, with their parents and Michael and Lucifer only just out of earshot. Most of him just wanted to have this evening over and done with already. “I’m sure,” he said, firmly, with a conviction born of many, many long years in the closet. “Just been a long day, that’s all.”

“All right then,” Anna said, and with a final smile, she headed off towards the dining room.

Alone for a moment in the hallway, Cas hesitated, then dropped his backpack into a corner and followed her.

* * *

The first thing Cas noticed was that the dining room was full. Father was leaning against the far wall, still in his suit jacket, conversing with Lucifer, who was sat at the end of the table. Mother was sat in her usual place, phone against her ear, talking. Anna was heading for her seat as well. Which just left–

“Castiel.”

Cas turned around, only just managing not to flinch at the sound of Michael’s voice behind him. “Michael,” he said, and was somewhat impressed at how steady his own voice was. “How are you?”

Michael was the tallest of all the siblings, and he towered slightly over Cas when he leaned over to clap him on the arm and pull him into a brief embrace. For a moment, Cas was engulfed in the scent of expensive cologne, Michael’s striped-blue tie inches from his face, but before the panic could really take hold, Michael released him and smiled, that charming smile Cas had seen on the video. “I am well, thank the Lord,” Michael said. “What about yourself?”

Cas took a small step back, tamped down the urge to turn and run from the room, and said, “Also doing well.” It sounded fake even to his own ears.

Thankfully, before Michael could engage in more… dangerous topics of conversation, Mother hung up her call and rushed over to Cas.

“Castiel!” she said, taking his face in her hands, “Nice to see you home, finally!”

Cas shut his eyes for a moment, trapped between the conflicting urges to pull Mother’s hands, warm and slender, off his face like they burnt and run away, and to lean into her like he was about five years old. He settled for opening his eyes and trying for a smile. “Yes, sorry I’m late, Mother.”

Mother, hands still on his cheeks, looked him up and down, and Cas hoped she, of all people, couldn’t tell how fucked he was. She was dressed like Anna, in her own formal-dinner dark green dress, her long black hair in a bun, her wrinkles, hidden under makeup, only visible because Cas was so close. “You look tired,” she said, frankly.

 _I am exhausted_ , Cas thought. “Schoolwork, you know?”

“Hmm, yes, Anna told me that you had to stay back and work on that history project.”

Cas offered up a silent prayer of thanks for Anna, having his back even when she didn’t know what she was having it for, and said, “Yeah, it’s a tough one but it’s coming together now, so… that’s good.”

This seemed to satisfy Mother, who smiled, patted his cheeks, said, “Come, let’s sit down, everyone’s hungry,” then let go of him and headed to her seat. Cas, in spite of himself, rubbed his cheek as he went round the table to his own seat, almost missing the contact.

As he sat down, Father stopped behind his chair, reached around to give him a brief squeeze on the shoulder, said, “Good evening, Castiel,” and then turned back to Lucifer.

“Hello, Father,” he answered, even though Father had already moved past. Cas examined his plate intently, willing himself not to look up and make eye contact as Lucifer sat down opposite him. Slowly, the sounds of chairs being pushed in and chatter subsided, as Father took his place at the head of the table.

Cas thought, _Lord give me strength, and a better poker face_ , and then Father said, “Michael, would you lead the grace tonight?”

* * *

Dinner finally ended, almost two full hours later, and Cas made it all the way up the stairs at a sedate pace, no running, quietly closed his door, locked it, and then slumped to the floor, back against the wall, and closed his eyes.

He had, over the course of the meal, actually eaten about five full bites of food, and also managed to acquire horrible stomach cramps. Cas opened his eyes, stared up at the white textured ceiling above him, and listened to the sounds of conversation still coming from downstairs. Everyone else had migrated to the living room, continuing their talk, their praise of Michael, their discussion of direction for ministry, the _amazing_ response they’d received from the community; Cas had made up excuses of it being a school night and having homework and left. Cas dug his elbows into his stomach, and reminded himself that if he started crying now, it would take him far too long to stop. Besides, everything was giving way to exhaustion now, to that sudden bone-deep tiredness that came after all the anxiety-induced adrenaline.

 _I could just sleep here_ , Cas thought, dropping his head to his knees. But that was a bad idea, because floors were uncomfortable, so, with what felt like far too much effort, Cas got to his feet and made his way to the cupboard, searching for pyjamas.

After what felt like a series of Herculean tasks, but were definitely things that _should_ have been easy – unbutton shirt, take off clothes, put on pyjamas, plug in phone, now dead, turn off light – Cas picked up his laptop, stumbled through the dark room, and collapsed onto the bed. Fucking finally—this was where he’d wanted to be all day.

He just lay there for a few moments, face down on the covers, laptop right next to him, until his brain decided it needed to fill the silence, and started replaying Michael’s video in his head. Sighing, Cas, still on his stomach, reached out for his laptop and turned it on.

Cas had many options. He could indulge his sad gay feelings and potentially make himself feel worse, and watch cutesy romcom _G.B.F_ , and maybe cry a bit _._ He could, alternatively, indulge his sad gay feelings by reading angsty queer lit, but then he’d _definitely_ start crying. He could go for a vapid high school drama show, but he’d likely end up fast-forwarding to only the bits with the gay side character, and then get annoyed by the inevitable outing storyline, and probably cry too. Most of his options involved crying. Or… after a moment more of consideration, thinking of Queen playing from an anachronistic audio cassette, Cas opened Facebook, and in the search bar, typed in _meg masters_.

Meg was this… rather odd girl, though heaven knows Castiel was the last person who had the right to say that, who sat next to him in English. For about six months, she’d called him Clarence and she’d sort of attempted to flirt with him. (When Cas hadn’t responded, she’d rolled her eyes and muttered something about _church boys_ , and that had been that.) More importantly, though, Meg was the sort of person who’d added everyone in their year on Facebook on day two of freshman year or something. Cas had about an eighth of his classmates on Facebook, and that was if he was being generous.

After clicking onto Meg’s friend list, Cas realised it might be unlikely that she had Dean, a new kid, on it, but she’d probably have the redhead—Charlie. A _find >charlie_ later, Cas was staring at the profile of one Charlie Bradbury, whose picture was of herself in full armour, holding a clearly-homemade red flag, painted with a yellow crescent moon wearing a crown. Cas regarded the strange image for a moment, before clicking onto her friends tab, hoping it was set to public.

It was. It only took a few minutes of scrolling before he found the profile of Dean Winchester. Almost everything was set to private, but Cas knew it was him, because the profile picture was a selfie of Dean and Sam, Dean in a flannel shirt not unlike the one he’d been wearing today, Sam in a button up and a too-large tie, grinning broadly. It was, Cas thought with a rueful smile, actually really fucking cute.

Before he could overthink it and send himself into some anxiety spiral about how Dean probably never wanted to hear from him again, they’d only _just_ met, Cas told himself firmly, _This is how normal people make friends_ , and clicked on the ‘add friend’ button.

_Friend request sent._

He closed the tab quickly, not wanting to rethink it and cancel the request, and then finally turned onto his back and burrowed under the blanket, pulling the laptop with him. There, in the blue-white glow of the screen, Cas tried to stretch – his stomach no longer hurt, which was nice, but his limbs felt like lead and didn’t really want to move – and considered turning off the laptop and just going to sleep. If he shut his eyes and concentrated, he could still faintly hear the conversation coming from downstairs, and he imagined Michael sitting there, probably next to Father, Michael talking about the _challenges our youth face_ and Mother listening attentively.

Yeah, sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon.

For a moment, his fingers itched to find that youtube video again, read all the comments, but he squashed down that thought with as firmly as he could, and instead opened up his _Doctor Who_ folder.

All ten seasons of New Who, in their pirated glory.

It only took him a second to decide—Cas wanted to see David Tennant in that way-too-attractive pinstripe suit, he wanted to see Captain Jack in all his queer glory, he wanted to see the end of the goddamn universe, and so, he started _Utopia._

* * *

(Two hours and nearly three episodes later, towards the end of _Last of the Time Lords_ , a few minutes before one a.m., a notification popped up in the corner of Cas’ screen. He paused the episode, and checked the notification.

 _Dean Winchester has accepted your friend request._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the comments! apologies for the delay—travelling ain't great for an update schedule. 
> 
> like castiel, i am a big fan of GBF, and i insist that 'utopia' is one of the best episodes of new who. i highly recommend both. 
> 
> this chapter's title comes from _everything is alright_ by motion city soundtrack.


	4. in between these words we dare not say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: how to continue stalking a potential maybe-friend, lie about how you’re doing, and have an unsettling conversation with an unpleasant person.

Surprising nobody, Cas had barely slept. He’d ended up dozing off sometime around three, had strange, vague dreams, in which he flitted around from place to place – now standing on a pier staring at a lake; now wading on a sandy, cold beach, fully dressed, coat and all; now standing in the dark, under a solitary streetlight – alone in all of them. He woke up then, and spent a long time lying in bed, trying to blink away the weirdness the dream had left him with, trying to ignore the idea of the day ahead, watching the light move slowly from black to grey. He finally rolled out of bed just after six, when there wasn’t enough time left for him to pretend he was trying to fall back asleep, and set about getting ready.

Earbuds in, volume all the way up, Cas got dressed – executing a truly impressive set of manoeuvres to get out of his pyjamas and into a shirt and sweater without dislodging the earbuds – spent about five seconds trying to straighten the bedsheets before giving up and just tucking his laptop under the pillow, out of sight, and then headed downstairs.

He was the only one awake. Cas loved these moments—the music, the solitude, the sheer lack of people reading over his shoulder, asking him what he was listening to, making him tense up. Early mornings were the only times he fully relaxed in this goddamn house. He made himself his cereal, checked the clock – 6:30, no chance of anyone being up and around yet – and ate his cereal, slowly.

It only took a few moments for his goddamn brain to head back towards thinking of Other Things, things that Cas did not want to think about, so, in an effort to distract himself, he picked up his phone, opened Facebook, and clicked on the most recent notification—the one that read _Dean Winchester has accepted your friend request._

Even now that they were friends, Dean didn’t have much on his Facebook. More than Cas himself did, but that wasn’t hard. There were a couple of recent pictures, posted by the redhead – Charlie – that Dean had been tagged in, of the two of them in pyjamas, with the caption _Ain’t no birthday like a birthday spent watching #DrSexy!_ There were some, posted by Dean, that looked like they were from the same day as his profile picture—of Dean, and a tall blonde woman Cas guessed was his mother, and of Sam, dressed up and holding a small trophy, a goofy grin splitting his face. The caption read _Hella proud of this squirt, but also, he’s growin up to be such a nerd._ Cas zoomed into one of the pictures, trying to read the label on the trophy—he could make out the words _Kansas_ and _Debate_.

Cas kept scrolling. There wasn’t much else interesting—a couple of selfies of Dean and Sam, sometimes with people Cas didn’t recognise; some routine birthday wishes; a cheesy New Year’s thing posted by someone who’d tagged fifty-odd people into it. Cas scrolled further down, and then, from about eleven months ago, were a spate of messages other people had left on Dean’s wall. For a brief moment, he thought he’d scrolled far enough that they were birthday messages from the year _before_ , but then he realised what they were saying.

_I’m so sorry for your loss, Dean. Stay strong!_

_So sorry to hear about John. He was truly a wonderful man. If you need anything please let me know <3 _

_My condolences to you and Sam. Please look after yourselves and stay strong._

There were at least twenty messages, and Cas scrolled through all of them, slowly. Dean hadn’t responded to a single one, although he had liked a few of them. A few of them mentioned this John by name, and while Cas had a suspicion, it wasn’t confirmed until he saw one that said, _I’m so sorry about your Dad._

Cas double-checked the dates. They were all from early November, which meant it hadn’t even been a year yet. Shit.

Now feeling slightly guilty for all the stalking, Cas quit Facebook and tucked his phone into his pocket, then took his now-empty cereal bowl into the kitchen. Placing his bowl in the sink, he considered the clock. It was 6:50, and he’d be early even if he walked.

Could he handle running into Lucifer, or Michael, or his Father?

The thought of waiting in this house and increasing his chances of seeing either of them made his stomach tighten, and Cas decided, fuck it, he’d walk. His backpack was still lying in the corner of the hallway where he’d left it, and so he picked it up and let himself out of the house, listening for the _click_ of the door locking behind him.

It was only then, standing in the driveway, that he texted Anna (all he said was _Don’t wait for me, I’ve headed to school early_ , and she would be pissed, but whatever). Then, he turned the volume on his earbuds up even further, MIKA playing loud enough to drown out the whole world, pulled his sweater sleeves down over his wrists, and started walking.

 

* * *

 

Dean Winchester, Cas thought, already pulling his earbuds out, was like one of those optical illusions, like where you had to find the shape of a rabbit in a mess of lines. You didn’t see it for ages, but once you started seeing it, you couldn’t stop. Case in point: Dean, in a different, but near-identical flannel shirt, a silver thermos flask in one hand, waving to Cas from across the courtyard, exaggerated enough that Cas couldn’t miss him even through the crowd of early students milling about.

Cas was only slightly hesitant when he waved back. He couldn’t quite deny that company would be better than his brain which, left to its own devices, was working up a decent mixtape of Michael’s most vitriolic phrases, intercut with random MIKA lyrics.

“There you are,” Dean said, dropping down on the stairs next to Cas without invitation.

Cas frowned, reached for his phone to turn off his music. “Were you looking for me?” Dean just shrugged and started unscrewing the lid of his thermos. Cas wondered what to say to that. Somehow, _I know your dad died_ didn’t quite seem like a great conversation starter.

“D’you want some coffee?” Dean asked, holding out the thermos between them. “Black,” he added after a moment.

“I—no, thank you.” They’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours, and this was the second time Dean had offered him something to eat or drink. Cas wondered if he needed to start returning the favour.

“Suit yourself.” Dean took a large sip from the thermos, then balanced it on the steps between the two of them.

Cas chewed on his lip and thought about the smell of the coffee, and of the twenty-odd condolence messages he’d read, and of how pristine Michael had looked in front of that crowd, not a hair out of place, tie perfectly straight. “Thank you,” he finally said, not quite sure why he was saying it.

“Hmm?”

“For yesterday.” Cas managed to look up, and Dean was watching him, brow slightly furrowed.

“Don’t worry about it.” Something about the way Dean said it made it sound genuine. “Hit me up if you need a ride anytime.”

Cas nodded, not quite sure if he trusted himself to speak, not quite sure if he wanted to say he usually had a ride, in the form of a sister he’d been kinda-sorta abandoning to wallow in self-pity, not quite sure he wouldn’t make the short leap from that to telling Dean his entire fucking life story, coming out on the front steps of the school building on a Wednesday morning and ruining the first proper chance he’d had at a _friend_ in forever.

And then where would he be?

“Hey.” Cas looked over, and Dean was watching him, a slight smile on his face. He had a bit of a dimple, Cas noticed. “Is, I dunno, everything okay with you?”

Cas nodded. “Yeah,” he lied. “Everything’s fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cas was sitting down in his first class – calculus, in his seat in the second row, opposite corner of the class from Dean and Charlie – when he felt his phone buzz. As expected, it was Anna, saying _leaving me alone with luc was a dick move._

 _Sorry,_ Cas answered, and he even meant it a bit.

_it’s fine. find me at lunch?_

Cas hesitated, then thought, what else was he gonna do? Hide out in the library again in hopes of being rescued by some other plaid-wearing Good Samaritan? Besides—Anna was so much _nicer_ than everyone else in the family, and she seemed to be trying, and he was fucking tired.

_I will._

 

* * *

 

The lessons slipped by a little too quickly for Cas’ liking. He was on his way to his last class before lunch, history, when a familiar voice said, “Hey, Castiel,” and someone fell into step beside him.

For a brief moment, Cas toyed with the idea of walking on and pretending he hadn’t heard, but he didn’t have his earbuds in for once, which meant not much plausible deniability. “Hello, Zachariah,” he said, looking up.

Even at eighteen, Zachariah seemed to have mastered this weirdly slimy smile, the kind favoured by businessmen who were going to con you out of everything while you stood in front of them, and it made Cas want to punch Zachariah, just a little bit. Well, that and other things.

“How are you doing, Castiel?” Zachariah asked.

“I’m headed to history,” Cas said, by way of answer, as they approached the stairwell. It was still two flights of stairs and a hallway before he could escape into the classroom, because Zachariah seemed to be heading the same way as he was, and that seemed way too far away.

“Hmm. What about your brother?”

“Which one, Michael?” Zachariah was just the kind of person who would be part of the goddamn Michael Novak fan club, of course.

“Oh, no, no. Michael seems to be doing _wonderfully_. I was talking about Gabriel.”

That stopped Cas in his tracks for a moment. What the fuck did Zachariah want with _Gabe_ , of all people? “He’s—well, he’s fine, I suppose.” They rounded the first flight of stairs, and started up on the second, Zachariah still keeping step with Cas. After a moment, Cas added, “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Zachariah said airily, in the sort of way that implied there was definitely a reason. “Just been thinking about him some. He was a bit of a strange one, wasn’t he?”

Somewhere inside Cas’ chest, something clenched painfully. It was something about the way Zachariah was speaking – maybe it was the stupid smile, maybe it was the way he raised his eyebrows on the word _strange_ – but it wasn’t implying good things. “What do you mean?”

But Zachariah went on as if Cas hadn’t spoken. “It’s just such a pity, don’t you think?” They were at the top of the stairs now, and Zachariah stopped there, turned to Cas. “Although, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

And before Cas could answer, or even fully process _that_ sentence, Zachariah turned and walked off. Cas remained standing at the top of the stairs for a moment, until someone pushed past him with a “Dude, what the hell, you’re blocking the way!”, and then, he headed off to history, still thinking, _what the fuck was that about?_

 

* * *

 

“Who’re you texting?”

Cas looked up from his phone, hesitated, then just said, “Gabe.” He’d been trying to type out something coherent to Gabe that wasn’t just _what sort of dirt would Zachariah have against you and why’s he bringing it up with me?_ for the last fifteen minutes, and he wasn’t getting very far.

Anna frowned, skilfully speared a bit of potato, a carrot, and half a cauliflower onto her fork in one move, and asked, “Any reason in particular?”

Cas shrugged. “Just wanted to say hi.”

Anna nodded, and, still frowning, popped the entire bite into her mouth.

Cas considered for a moment longer, then decided that fuck it, he’d just say hi.

Anna nudged him with her elbow, and when he looked up, she said, “Tell Gabe I say hello.”

 

* * *

 

 

 ** _Cas:_** _(2:17 pm)_ Hello.

 ** _Gabe:_** _(2:25 pm)_ Cassie! It’s been a while!

 ** _Gabe:_** _(2:25 pm)_ How are you? How’s the rest of the lot?

 ** _Cas:_** _(2:56 pm)_ Everyone is well. Anna says ‘hello’.

 ** _Gabe:_** _(2:57 pm)_ Tell her hi from me! I should really text her…

 ** _Gabe:_** _(2:57 pm)_ Anyway, how are things in the house otherwise?

 ** _Cas:_** _(3:52 pm)_ They’re okay. The usual.

 ** _Cas:_** _(3:53 pm)_ Okay, maybe slightly out of the ‘usual’

 ** _Gabe:_** _(3:53 pm)_ ???

 ** _Cas:_** _(3:56 pm)_ Have you heard about what Michael’s been up to?

 ** _Gabe:_** _(3:56 pm)_ No???

 ** _Gabe:_** _(3:56 pm)_ Should I have? Did something happen?

 ** _Cas:_** _(3:57 pm)_ Huh, it was pretty much everywhere. Does college mean you’re living under a rock?

 ** _Cas:_** _(3:57 pm)_ Sorry. That was harsher than I meant.

 ** _Gabe:_** _(3:58 pm)_ Nah dw, I just manage to avoid most home/family news pretty well.

 ** _Gabe:_** _(3:58 pm)_ So come on, don’t leave me hanging, what’s he done?

 ** _Cas:_** _(4:02 pm)_ **< youtube link sent>**

 ** _Cas:_** _(4:02 pm)_ He went a bit viral round these circles, I guess.

 ** _Gabe:_** _(4:18 pm)_ Holy shit

 ** _Gabe:_** _(4:18 pm)_ That was…

 ** _Gabe:_** _(4:19 pm)_ Well. It was something.

 ** _Cas:_** _(4:20 pm)_ Yes. Indeed.

 ** _Cas:_** _(4:20 pm)_ I’m home now. I’ll talk to you later, Gabe.

 ** _Gabe:_** _(4:21 pm)_ Sure, Cas.

 ** _Gabe:_** _(4:43 pm)_ Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year! thank you to everyone who's still reading this fic, in spite of my increasingly sporadic updates. here's to an even queerer twenty-bi-teen. 
> 
> this chapter's title is from _no place in heaven_ by mika, and the entire song is just a massive sad gay mood. naturally, it's thus one of my favourites. 
> 
> the next chapter will be an interlude, from the pov of a different character!

**Author's Note:**

> my fondness for HS!AU destiel is honestly bordering on ridiculous, but I like projecting my emotions onto fictional characters, so I decided to actually write one, because what else does one do over summer.
> 
> stalk me on my [tumblr](http://songofwizardry.tumblr.com/), if you like queer content and fandom complaining.
> 
> if you need any more content warnings, or would like me to summarise stuff that contains triggery content, just let me know!


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